


Foreverlast

by EmeraldStormborn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault (not by main characters), Blood Drinking, Brief Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldStormborn/pseuds/EmeraldStormborn
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Severus Snape emerges from the shadows as a full-fledged vampire with an assignment in Bulgaria.  Upon accidentally reacquainting with Hermione Granger, a fierce, mysterious hunger claws to the surface, and his draw to her threatens the tight rein of control he's had over his vampire instincts.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 111
Kudos: 241
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, SSHG Spooktober Fest 2020





	1. Two Worlds Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackcoffee13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffee13/gifts).



> _Welcome to my Vampire!Severus Spooktober contribution! I hope you enjoy. One note I'll urge you to consider from the beginning and won't mention again: I am pulling heavily from many sources of vampire myth. JKR didn't outline vampires much and so I am incorporating different lore. This is dedicated to my dearest[blackcoffee13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffee13), who is a vampire aficionado, and a beautifully encouraging beta - all mistakes are my own. _
> 
> _If you're interested, here's my_[playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jUOcpMatJO9rREzdptzI3?si=Zk1anQcQSCObaaVpOl9TEw) _for this fic. The title of the story as well as the chapter titles come from "Foreverlast" by my favorite band, The Crüxshadows._

* * *

_Romania, June 1998_

It was still a shock, waking up in a coffin. It was a ridiculous aesthetic choice, but better to wake up in one as opposed to being stuck in one forever, buried and forgotten.

A month prior, he’d lain in the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out, waiting for death. And death had come, oh yes, but not quite the way he’d expected: A mouth moving against his throat. The rich smell of sandalwood in his nostrils. The suffocating feeling of every drop of blood leaving his body, his veins shrinking as they went dry. 

“Ah, Severus, you’ve awakened,” a musical tenor voice greeted from above him.

“Yes,” Severus managed in the least cantankerous tone he could muster. Severus hated when his sire was waiting to watch him rise each evening, peering over the edge of his coffin with a jovial smile on his lips. 

“The night is beautiful, and I have quite the appetite. Are you ready to hunt?”

Severus had never been a morning person, and even now, when the night had become his morning, nothing had changed. 

“Come, come!” Razvan encouraged him with an impatient gesture. The ruffles of his sleeves swayed with the motion. 

Razvan was exactly what Severus imagined most people thought of when they heard the word vampire. He dressed with a Victorian flair, had stark, bright blue eyes, and long, black hair that tipped in a widow’s peak. Eccentric, yet kind, he was deceptively mild mannered with a core of steel. Severus had grown to respect him, even if he was sometimes irritated by Razvan’s exuberant manner. There was a reason Razvan was one of the most respected vampire elders in their world. He was an incredible leader.

“Will Mireille be joining us tonight?” Severus asked, floating up from the coffin to land agilely on his feet next to it. 

“I am afraid not,” Razvan replied. “She still sleeps.”

Severus preferred it that way. He had nothing against Mireille; she was a gracious, pleasant mate to Razvan, and had been welcoming to Severus at every turn. But it was often somewhat uncomfortable being the third wheel, especially when feeding. The two would shower each other with endearments and affection afterward, even disappearing for a time with rushed excuses to Severus. Such sentimentality made him queasy. 

Razvan was patient with Severus as Severus attempted morphing into a group of bats to travel to their destination. It required practice and precision to make the change, and Severus was practically an infant when it came to being a vampire. Still, for the last month, he’d trained with Razvan and gained valuable knowledge. He couldn’t have asked for a better teacher, though he’d rather have never been made vampire at all.

“Try that one,” Razvan instructed, as they watched a woman walk into an alley.

“I prefer the ones who deserve it,” Severus groused grumpily.

“And what of us?” Razvan rejoined, as if he’d been expecting Severus to argue. “Do we not deserve to live? Blood is our only sustenance, Severus. You are not harming her, nor do you wish to. You are merely doing what you must to survive.”

“What if I did hurt her?” Severus pressed angrily, bitter at his lack of choice. 

Razvan sighed. “Accidents happen. Particularly to those newly-born. I promised you I wouldn’t let it happen again, and you must trust me. I will intervene if it becomes necessary. It will become easier, Severus. And we will cleanse this unending guilt from you in time, as well.”

Severus doubted that very much. Guilt was like a cloak he could never remove. Breaking a helpless man’s neck in the ferocity of his first feeding had sat heavily upon him, and no matter how many criminals or ill reputable folk he fed from, he never felt better about it. And that was on top of the crimes he’d committed before Razvan had changed his life forever. 

Albeit a reluctant participant in his new life, Severus knew he had to make the most of it. Surely as time went on, he’d feel more comfortable as a vampire. And if he didn’t, well, even immortals had a weakness.

* * *

_Five years later_

“It is time, Severus,” Razvan announced as he hovered down the stairs. 

“So you say. I would much prefer to remain a memory than make my existence known on an international stage.” Severus eyed himself in the grandiose golden mirror by the double doors. Becoming a vampire had certainly improved his looks, but no transformation could part him from his notorious scowl. He straightened the black and red brocade vest Razvan had commissioned especially for him. Apparently, he was parting from his sire with a whole new wardrobe. The gesture was so solidly Razvan it made Severus inwardly roll his eyes.

“The Minister promised to keep it as unostentatious as possible,” his sire assured, waving a hand in the air as if waving off Severus’ feelings. “Each of us must make gestures of goodwill if we are to recover from the even worse reputation we received during the War.” 

Razvan looked over Severus’ attire and adjusted his shoulders and cravat. Severus felt like he was being pecked at by a mother hen. He had barely a shred of confidence in Razvan’s plan, but he was duty-bound to follow his behests, and he respected him enough to try. This was his first assignment in contribution to the vampire community, and it was high time. 

“You must merely shake hands with the man, promise our aid should the need arise, and stay until he’s settled into his position,” Razvan advised him. “A month, if all goes well.” Tapping his hands on Severus’ shoulders, he stepped away and nodded with a pleased smile at his handiwork. “The manor house in Sofia has been prepared for you. It should suit you nicely during your time in Bulgaria.” 

Razvan’s cavalier attitude grated. “You told me years ago we should stick to the shadows; that it’s where we excel best,” Severus challenged one last time, foolishly hoping the whole plan would be reconsidered.

Razvan grinned. “And that remains true. However, our lack of action in the war in Britain created new prejudices, and we cannot allow them to remain. I am trusting you with this, Severus. You are my proudest progeny, though I do hope you won’t tell Mireille I said so.”

Unsure how to handle such praise, Severus stepped away from the mirror and approached the doors. “I’ll send word,” he vowed, before morphing flawlessly into an assembly of bats as he went on his way.


	2. Forfeit Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks to Lia for helping my tired brain iron out some details here. Thanks to BlackCoffee13 for being so freaking nice to me! Have you visited my tumblr to see my moodboard for this fic? Also, ChanccArt on tumblr has some delicious versions of Vampire!Snape that I've been swooning over!_

* * *

The ballroom was splendid.

Hermione was left breathless as her eyes took in the sight of the elegant space. Floating candelabras hovered around the room while impeccably dressed servers with trays shuffled in between guests. The golden trim and inlay along the white marble walls gleamed, reflecting the shining light of the intricate chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. 

“Hermione!” a deep voice called, and she barely turned in time to receive the beefy arms of Viktor Krum enfolding around her. “You’re beautiful,” he told her earnestly, holding her at arm’s length and letting his eyes roam over her. 

Hermione blushed and looked around self-consciously. It wasn’t often she adorned such finery, and definitely never anything as fine as this. Viktor’s mother had insisted that Hermione let professional stylists come to the manor and prepare Hermione for the evening. 

Only a couple of days into her stay with Viktor and his family, and Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain with them. Their hospitality was flawless, but she was a private person who needed a great deal of time to herself, and if it wasn’t Viktor barging in and trying to involve her in something, it was his parents. For some reason they were taken with her, though she and Viktor both had made it extremely clear to them that they were not involved romantically and would not be rekindling any old flames. He was at the Manor for the off-season, and she was there for a few weeks solely for a study abroad project. 

Viktor’s parents were heavily involved with the Bulgarian Ministry for Magic, and were hosting quite the affair in honor of the Minister’s retirement. Delegates from around the world were in attendance. It was incredibly exciting to be at the heart of such an occasion, though a bit overwhelming as she realized she didn’t know half of the people in the room. 

She accepted Viktor’s outstretched hand, the excitedly expectant smile on his face rather irresistible. He made her laugh, and he’d always had a way of making her feel more confident. She was grateful for his continued friendship after all these years, and on some level wished they’d been able to rekindle their brief relationship, but they weren’t truly compatible. 

“May I cut in?” Viktor’s father, Andrey, asked, coming to rest beside them. 

Viktor rolled his eyes but stepped aside to allow his father to take over. Hermione smiled politely up at him, but it was forced and uncomfortable as Andrey’s hands rested at her waist. For some reason, this man unsettled her; he had since he’d taken her hand in greeting when she’d arrived in Sofia at the Krum home. His smiles bordered on leers, and there was something looming in his eyes that always made her look away quickly. 

“The stylists did well,” he commented, his eyes roving over her salaciously. 

She was seriously beginning to question her lodgings with the Krums. 

“Thank you,” Hermione replied stiffly while looking over his shoulder, searching for someone she could discreetly motion to step in. Back home, Harry and Ron were always the ones up to the task. Ministry balls were harrowing at best, and both of her friends had happily moved on into domestic bliss while she continued her studies at Oxford’s School of Wizardry; being unattached at those events meant she was preyed upon by many wizards simply looking to score the war heroine. Her friends were much too protective to let that happen, though she could take care of herself and had sent a few subtle stinging hexes across the room more times than she cared to admit.

Hexing Viktor’s father unfortunately didn’t feel like an option.

As Andrey led her in a lively waltz, she heard a familiar voice, and she immediately searched the area, her heart beating faster. It couldn’t be…

But there, derision etched across his features as he listened to Igor Karkaroff speak, was none other than her former Potions professor. 

She gaped. It was impossible. Severus Snape had been officially declared dead five years ago. She’d watched him gasp for his last breaths in the Shrieking Shack. His body had never been found, but they’d all assumed escaped Death Eaters must’ve done something to him. Clearly, they’d all been wrong. There he was, the surety of it knocking the breath out of her lungs. 

He was changed. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Especially not with the way Andrey was swinging her around the ballroom floor, blocking her view as she peered at Snape. The most shocking thing was his change of clothes; he wore a red brocade vest over a black poet’s shirt with black pants and black boots. Dragonhide, no doubt. Hermione inwardly shook her head with self-mockery. Here she was, waxing nostalgic about the rows of endless buttons on his former robes, when she should be wondering how he’d survived.

Andrey seemed to notice her distraction. He glanced over his shoulder to follow her rapt gaze and grinned crookedly when he spotted the object of her perusal. 

“Ah, your former professor. We were all rather astonished at Master Snape’s presence tonight. Rumors of his demise were greatly exaggerated.” As he spoke, Andrey twirled her around so that Snape was no longer in her line of vision. “Viktor respected him until, if I’m remembering correctly, he ridiculed you prior to the Yule Ball.”

“He told you about that?” she asked, finally drawing her gaze away from her former professor to frown up at Andrey. Why would he even remember something like that? She had been glad to forget all of Snape’s hatefulness after watching his memories and learning of his past trauma. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but it did explain it, and she had always been one to feel compassion for any downtrodden being. 

Andrey rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Viktor wrote to us often about you, and we were eager to know more about the one girl who had captured his attention so completely, when many girls had tried and failed.” 

Hermione fought the nausea bubbling in her stomach. “I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to go and say hello to Professor Snape.”

A flint of annoyance sparked in his dark eyes, but then he stopped their dance, and moved his arm to the small of her back. 

“Come then,” he said, “I will reintroduce you.”

She didn’t think that was necessary, but wasn’t keen on making a scene. His overbearing hands would be off of her soon enough, and she’d worry about the rest later. 

They made their way through the crowd, Hermione’s gaze set on Snape. Every inch closer they approached, her heart beat faster. She wasn’t even sure why. Perhaps it was that she knew no one else in attendance save for Viktor, and had been feeling homesick. Or maybe it was because, despite his penchant for bullying, Snape had saved Hermione and her friends so often that she saw him as somewhat of a safe haven, which she desperately needed at the moment.

Andrey tapped Snape on the shoulder, and she almost snickered at the way Snape’s body tensed in reaction. 

“Master Snape,” Andrey addressed her former professor, “I wonder if you might have a moment.”

He turned with a sneer, and her eyes met his. For some unknown reason, she felt herself blushing deeply. 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” she greeted softly, a shy smile accompanying her words. 

* * *

As her eyes met his, need slammed into him, and the strength of it nearly doubled him over. Shock came shortly thereafter, and Severus struggled to retain control of his roiling emotions. No longer a girl, but a curvaceous, lovely woman, Hermione Granger stood before him, her very presence setting his nerve endings ablaze. 

_She is yours!_ a voice inside him roared. He fought the urge to shake his head. What in Merlin’s name? 

“Miss Granger,” he said, his voice caressing her name. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his mouth, his lips grazing over her knuckles. His fangs hurt so badly he feared they’d burst out of his mouth. The smell of her was exquisite. He could hear the blood rushing through her veins, the sound of it like a siren’s song. Gods, he was losing control, and it both infuriated him and alarmed him. He could not botch this night - not with Razvan and the vampire community relying on him so heavily.

He subtly took a deep breath and attempted to erect his Occlumency shields for assistance in staving off the scarlet haze that had overtaken his vision. It worked poorly, but enough for him to assess the situation more clearly. 

She’d been one of the last to see him before his death and regeneration; perhaps that was the reason for his irrational response to her. He also loathed being caught off guard, and coming into contact with a member of the Golden Trio, or anyone from his life in the United Kingdom, was completely unexpected. 

His hungry gaze rested on her throat, exposed to him as she wore her riotous curls in a fancy fashion atop her head. He could hear her heart beating erratically, could see the flush of excitement reddening her cheeks. He’d fed before attending the ball, but he suddenly felt ravenous as he stared at her. It was as if her beautifully silken neck was meant for his bite.

“Perhaps you would join me for a dance?” he requested, holding his hand out to her. It surprised him how quickly she laid her hand in his. His gaze lingered on her wrist before he led her to the ballroom floor. 

“I thought I’d seen a ghost, Professor,” she said lightly, her hand squeezing his. 

_Wrong monster, little one,_ he thought wryly. 

“What brings you to Bulgaria?” he asked of her, changing the subject. His origins were on a strict need-to-know basis. Her curious mind must be running haywire, but she would have to cease that line of questioning.

“I am on a study abroad trip. I go to Oxford,” she offered brightly. “I know it probably astounds you, but I couldn’t decide on one subject, so I am studying both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.” 

Her self-deprecating tone and smile made him smirk. “Your mind would’ve been wasted if you’d have chosen just one field.”

Her lovely brown eyes widened, and her hand tightened on his. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she told him, a beatific smile on her face. 

He’d mistakenly thought his draw to her was an inexplicable bloodlust, but as her smile washed over him, he felt his entire body react. The red haze blurred his vision once more, and his fangs involuntarily unsheathed, ready to be put to good use.

He came to a halt and dropped her hand as gently as he could manage. “I must go,” he said carefully, folding his lips down to hide his fangs. “May I call on you?” _Severus, you fool! You cannot be around her if this is what occurs._ He blinked rapidly to clear the indecision inside him. _She’s yours, and you must make it so,_ a wicked part of him growled.

Startled, she nodded. “Please do,” she said softly, and his body tightened even more at the subtle pleading he heard in her tone. “I am staying with the Krums.”

Severus bowed to her before turning away and striding to the open double doors of the ballroom. Every instinct in him cried out the further he receded from her. What the fuck was his problem? He cursed himself repeatedly, trying to bring himself under control. He felt like a fledgling vampire all over again, and the notion was ridiculous. He had grown to be powerful and capable, someone Razvan was proud to call progeny. What would Razvan think of him now?

He needed to feed. He still felt full from his feeding before the ball, but he needed to feed or he would almost certainly lose control of his senses.

He spotted a lone wizard walking past the enormous manor home. He descended on him and hypnotized him so that he would feel no pain and remember nothing afterward, and then Severus’ head dipped to drink deeply from the man. 

Merlin. At least it was near the end of the ball when he had been reacquainted with the Brightest Witch of Her Age, his primary duties to the new Bulgarian Minister for Magic completed. He had offered his support and now simply needed to be available to the man, but Severus knew if he visited Hermione Granger during his assignment in Sofia, it would rob him of his focus. 

_Nothing else matters,_ the beast inside him rasped. _Only her._

Severus closed his eyes and tried to tune the voice out. It was barmy to think she of all people could be so irresistible to him. He simply would not tolerate it. 


	3. Waiting For So Long

Hermione glanced up from her book as the door to the study opened. Her grip tightened on the massive tome as Andrey entered the room, nervous tension filling her whole body. She needed to start occupying less obvious places; only a week and a half into her stay with the Krums, and everyone knew exactly where to find her. 

“Good evening, Hermione,” Andrey said, coming to sit beside her on the large sofa. “We missed you at dinner.”

Hermione shifted as subtly as possible further down the sofa. “I had a late lunch with my study group,” she replied, though she’d already told Viktor’s mother the reason behind her absence. Andrey clearly had some form of ulterior motive, and she was stuck between wanting to sharply put him in his place, and demurely staying quiet but on guard. Her study abroad trip would end within the month, and she could be done with this. 

“Still, you could’ve dropped in to say hello,” he suggested, a thin thread of irritation in his voice. “Or, at least have dessert with us.”

As a struggling student, she’d been overjoyed by Viktor’s invitation to stay in his family’s large manor home during her trip. She didn’t wish to seem ungrateful in the least, but she hadn’t bargained on Viktor’s father exhibiting such strange behavior. She felt like she always needed a Scourgify after leaving his presence. It was a delicate situation and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Surely the man wouldn’t hurt her… 

“I’ll remember that for next time,” she promised with a tight smile as she lifted her tea cup from its place before her and sipped. She focused back on her reading as a hint to him that she wished to be left alone. 

He did not take the hint. Instead, he moved closer.

“I do hope you know how very glad we are to host you here,” Andrey told her, a smile just a tad too slimy on his face for her comfort. He leant forward and placed his hand on her knee, his thumb stroking suggestively. “You are quite the young woman.”

Hermione was preparing to stand and get as far away as possible, but they were blessedly interrupted by the Krums’ butler sweeping open the door to the study. 

“Mr Severus Snape, my lord, here to see Miss Granger,” the butler announced.

Viktor’s father stood with a confused, angry look. Hermione set down her tea cup and couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face as her former professor entered the room. Black had always suited him well, but the hints of red and the Victorian pieces of his clothing accentuated his pale skin and longer hair so well that she found heat curling low in her belly.

“What a surprise!” Andrey exclaimed, reaching out to shake Snape’s hand. Snape nodded his head in greeting but did not reach out to take the man’s hand. Hermione privately reveled in her former professor’s cold-shouldered treatment of Andrey. 

“Miss Granger,” Snape spoke, his voice caressing her name. “I wondered if I may ask you to walk the garden with me?”

“I would be happy to,” she replied with pleasant surprise. Standing, she nodded toward Andrey and strode past Severus out of the room, then turned to accept his arm as they made their way toward the garden. 

“Are you enjoying your time here?” Snape inquired, slowing his long stride to match hers. 

His smooth, deep baritone did wicked things to her senses. She’d always found his voice to be alluring, but somehow, as an adult, it struck her how very delicious it was. She snuck a look up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze lingering on all the changes present from the very worn down man she’d known so many years ago. He looked younger, and darkly handsome; oh, his nose was still large, to be sure, and his features still sharply cut. But instead of a sickly, bitter wizard, he appeared similar to how she imagined patrician Romans must have looked based on the busts she’d seen in history museums. His hair was quite a bit longer, reaching just past his shoulders, and the moonlight highlighted the deep raven color. His eyes, endless obsidian pools, met hers, and she smiled sheepishly as she realized he was waiting for her answer.

“Yes, I have enjoyed being in Sofia,” Hermione responded. “It’s been a lovely experience, aside from Viktor’s parents constantly trying to bring us together… I think they want a war heroine in the family.” She deliberately left out Andrey’s strange advances as of late, though she felt oddly safe with Severus, as if she could tell him everything. “I’m shocked my Order of Merlin means anything here.”

“No doubt your reputation precedes you around the world,” he said with a smirk. 

She bit back a giddy smile. She felt like a schoolgirl again. How often had she wished for his attention and approval at Hogwarts? He was the only one who hadn’t lavished her with the praise she craved. She had denounced herself as thoroughly pathetic for wanting his favor, but now, her arm entwined in his, she realized she still so desperately wanted his acclaim. She wasn’t sure if she should chastise herself, or bask in his words.

“And what of you, Professor Snape?” she asked, choosing to redirect the focus back to him instead of the thrill of his attention, lest she embarrass herself. “What brings you here to Sofia, and do you fancy it here?”

He slowed them to stand under the leafy overhang of the largest tree in the garden. 

“I would fancy it,” he countered, his eyes devouring her, “if you would call me Severus.” He didn’t touch her, though it certainly seemed as if he wanted to, and even though she would welcome it, it was a relief that he held off. 

“Gladly.” She leaned into him a bit, feeling utterly entranced as she stood beside him underneath the moonlight. “But in that case, I’m Hermione.” She said it teasingly, but she was certain he could refer to her as Medusa the snake-haired monster and she would still love hearing it in his voice. What kind of spell was he casting over her?

“Hermione,” he murmured, and her stomach clenched with fierce arousal, “join me for dinner?”

It was rather late for a meal, but she was dying to unwrap his enigmatic wizard. 

“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed. “But only if you’ll stop deflecting my questions,” she added playfully. “I don’t want to drone on about myself the entire time.”

“You and your questions,” he teased with feigned ruefulness. “I’ll acquiesce to your terms.” He enfolded her arm more securely in his. “Hold on,” he whispered in her ear, as he spun them away in Side Along Apparition. 

* * *

Severus was utterly confounded as to why he would ask her to dinner; he couldn’t eat or drink anything of mortals; it would make him violently ill. He could have spent the entirety of the night with her in the vast gardens on the Krums’ estate. Hermione was stunning in the moonlight and he was hard-pressed to resist his baser instincts in her presence.

He’d fed thoroughly upon waking at sundown in preparation of his visit with her. He couldn’t again face the overwhelming temptation he’d felt two nights ago at the ball; it had alarmed him so much that he’d spent the rest of the evening honing his Occlumency skills, something he hadn’t worried about in years. Razvan could see into his mind at will, being Severus’ sire, but generally vampires respected one another to not take such liberties without permission. He realized now that he’d been overindulged so much in the shadows of Romania that his former life had begun to feel like a bad dream. One night back in wizarding society had been a firm reminder that not much had changed in his absence, and he needed to be on his guard.

Hermione, however, was an exception. For some reason, he knew without a doubt that any kind of attempted shield around her would be futile. She called to him, her soul to his, with an inexplicable pull that both confused and rattled him. 

Their server came with menus for them, and Severus thanked the man but set his menu down immediately. 

“Do you know what you’re having?” Hermione asked with a raised brow. “I’m not terribly hungry. Oh! They have quite the wine list. Would you share a bottle with me?” 

Severus shook his head with a regretful look. “I never drink… wine.”

Hermione tilted her head as she glanced askance at him. 

“That look,” he observed with a smirk. “Go on, then. Ask your questions. I can see that you are teeming with them.”

Hermione blushed prettily. “I know it must be very personal for you, but, how did you survive?”

Severus leaned back in his chair and considered her carefully. How much to tell her? Such an earnest thing she was, and as her beautiful brown eyes peered at him, he felt as if he was undone completely by her.

Their server came for their order, but Hermione hurriedly ordered a gillywater and sent him on his way. Severus almost laughed outright at her expectant expression as her eyes settled on him once more. 

“This will come as a surprise to you, no doubt, and I hope you will not be alarmed,” he ventured delicately. He leaned closer in toward her after wrapping a Muffliato around them, as well as a Notice-Me-Not. Summoning his courage, he slowly curled his upper lip back and unsheathed his fangs. 

Her eyes grew wide as saucers. It would have been comical, if he didn’t feel like his fate hung in the balance. The notion was ridiculous, but he had no wish to be spurned by her.

“You’re a vampire?” she asked unnecessarily, for the evidence was right before her eyes. Her eyes flitted over his face, and then paused on his neck. His high collar prevented any answers. 

Severus inclined his head by way of confirming her words. “My sire, a widely respected elder in the vampire community, found me in the Shrieking Shack. He turned me, mentored me, and sent me here to act as an emissary of good will for the Minister of Bulgaria.”

Hermione was as wide-eyed as he’d ever seen her. She seemed to process the information he’d provided, and then she continued with her questions. 

“Did it hurt?” she asked curiously. 

Curiosity was good. It meant she was in learning mode, open to knowing more, and not completely horrified and scared of him. For the first time since he’d known her, he wished to indulge every inch of curiosity she presented. 

Giving her a sardonic smile, he nodded. “Indeed. I had to essentially die before being born anew, my body strengthened and renewed by the vampire blood. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t last long.”

She sat back in awe. “This is fascinating,” she told him excitedly. “There is nothing I’ve been able to find about how a vampire is made. Only about those who are born, and even that is very little.”

“We stick to the shadows,” Severus said gravely. “It is what’s best.”

Hermione frowned suddenly, her gaze filled with suspicion. “Did your sire fight with Voldemort?”

“Gods, no,” Severus answered with a chuckle. The idea of Razvan and Voldemort attempting to agree on anything amused him greatly. “He abhorred the Dark Lord. A group of rogue vampires, ousted from the community for breaking vampire code, are the ones who sided with Voldemort. All of our elders were vehemently against him and his ideals; most of them have lived long enough to see all manner of tyrants come on the scene with grand ideas. Razvan, my sire, was there as a last attempt to convince his progeny to leave the battle.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I know vampires aren’t inherently evil. I don’t believe anyone is.”

Severus raised a brow. “How charming,” he said, with just a hint of a sneer. Dangerously naive was more like it, but he wouldn’t insult her. “It astounds me that you are not more jaded, given what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t want to live life that way,” she said passionately. It stunned him. She was like an ethereal light. Is that why the dark beast inside of him was so drawn to her?

“So you’re not undead?” she surged on with her inquiries. 

Severus raised a brow. “Contrary to what wizardkind has documented, we are very much alive. Think more of the fae in mythology, as opposed to Stoker’s dramatic telling.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured, eyes resting on his fangs. It made him feel hungry. 

“I could ask you questions all night, you realize,” she informed him, a secret smile on her face. 

“Of that I have no doubt,” he replied, smirking. 

The restaurant was closing by the time Hermione seemed satisfied with his summation of the past five years. He’d managed to learn more about her, too, in between her excited inquiries. He felt quite chuffed about how their evening had gone.

But he’d misjudged the amount of time he could spend in her presence before the red haze came upon him. He was hungry, both for blood and for her body. He needed to possess her, and though she had been flirtatious with him most of the evening - after a few years around openly sexual female vampires, he’d been thoroughly educated in regards to when interest in him was being shown - he hesitated to advance on her. Especially in the desperate, bestial state into which he was crumbling.

“Let me see you home,” Severus told her as he rose and held out a hand. 

They arrived back in the garden, her arm warm in his. Her proximity was like standing next to a raging fire. He welcomed it even through its intensity. 

“Severus,” she said his name softly, almost hesitantly. “I want to apologise.”

Brow furrowing, he stared down at her, perplexed. “Whatever for?”

“For leaving you there, in the Shrieking Shack,” she answered, eyes downcast. “I would’ve come back to try to save you,” she confessed in a small, shy voice that ignited every nerve ending in his body.

“And why is that?” he asked, turning toward her more fully. He removed her arm from his so that he could grasp both of her hands.

Hermione gazed up at him with such adoration it stole his breath. 

“Because you were - are - a brilliant man,” she revealed with an abundance of emotion. “I always thought so, even when we didn’t know that you were on our side. You drove me batty, refusing to give me credit for my hard work. But you also drove me to work harder, and to be better. I admired you, to put it simply.”

“And now?” he asked, moving closer to her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“You’re alive and well now,” she teased, stepping back.

“Do you admire me still, Hermione?” he asked, his voice caressing every syllable of her name.

“Yes,” she breathed candidly, without hesitation.

He reached out to trace her jugular with his fingers, smirking when she gasped softly. He wrapped his hand around her throat and lowered his head toward hers. 

“I want to taste you,” he whispered against her lips, nearly groaning as she swayed toward him. “I can hear the blood rushing through your veins; smell its sweet perfume. It calls to me, Hermione.”

He realized he was walking a fine line when she reached out to place her hands on his waist to steady herself. He’d been so close to hypnotizing her, so desperate was he to sink his fangs into her lovely neck. 

He wanted her willing, though. It usually never made a difference to him; Razvan had taught him long ago to drop that guilt, as they required blood to live and could make it absolutely painless and leave with no one the wiser. But he didn’t want that from her. He wanted her to look him in the eye and give her consent to be tasted. And he knew that at the moment, he did not have enough control over himself to wait for it. 

“I must go,” he said roughly, moving to pull away from her.

“Wait!” she cried, wrapping a hand around his wrist as he removed his hand from its loose circle around her neck. “I don’t know that I’m ready to be bitten,” she admitted hesitantly, but with bravery. “But I do know that I’m ready to kiss you. Just once.”

Just once, over his twice-dead body. He grinned, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight. “A kiss you shall have, then, little one.”

Sinking a hand into her riotous curls and wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her into him as his head descended and his lips met hers. The soft moan that escaped her throat inflamed him, and he plundered her mouth with fervor, angling her head for the deepest kiss possible. 

A fierce pounding started in his head, and he realized with concern that it matched the throbbing of his heart. The little minx in his arms daintily flicked her tongue curiously over his fangs, and he felt his cock harden painfully. 

_Claim her_ , a voice whispered to him - his own, the feral part of him that had emerged with renewed fury since his reacquaintance with Hermione. _She is yours. Make her yours!_

His Occlumency shields didn’t work against himself. He was perilously close to losing control, and taking what the beast inside him had deemed his for some unknown reason. 

When her hips ground against his, searching for that delicious friction, he ripped himself away from her, panting mightily as he took in the sight of her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Her wide eyes took in the sight of him looking panicked and no doubt rabid.

“My apologies,” he ground out, before morphing into bat form and flying away.

* * *

He returned in the late hours. He didn’t want to, but the further he retreated from her, the more every fibre of his being cried out in angered agony. It was as if there was a string tied between the two of them, and if he stretched it too far, the tightening was unbearable. 

He’d already been invited in, so it was nothing to cast an Alohomora and push open her bedroom window, and then carefully enter without waking her. He just had to see her face. He had to solve the confounding mystery of why he felt so drawn to this young woman, once his most frustrating pupil.

She had changed, but not entirely. At her core she was still the brash Gryffindor he remembered, uniquely bright. She was warm and inviting, her laugh still caressing his ears. She possessed a natural kind of beauty, subtle for the most part, yet no less alluring. And her blood… the very sight of her pulse beating in her neck had every inch of body tightening painfully. He must taste her. It was his right. It was his honor. It was his destiny.

But he would not. He felt completely out of control around her and would not risk her life. He had seen many beautiful women, especially in the vampire community, and yet she outshined them all, and it made very little sense. He needed to speak with Razvan. Surely his sire would have all the answers.

His heart pounding painfully, he went to her window and took to the air to return home to Romania. 


	4. A Lover's Cup

Severus paced anxiously as he spoke to Razvan, the tension inside of him making it impossible to sit still.

“I truly don’t understand this attraction to her. She was one of the most infuriating people I’ve ever met, and now I feel incomplete unless I am in her presence,” Severus finished with pure frustration in his voice. His pacing came to a halt as he looked at Razvan hopefully for an explanation.

“Ah, so you have met your _apelant de sânge_.”

“My what?” Severus asked blankly, feeling the muscle in his jaw begin to twitch. His mind worked quickly to translate the term from Romanian to English. “Blood-caller?”

“Rather less melodic in English, no?” Razvan teased. 

“What does it mean?” Severus demanded impatiently, wondering how Razvan could be so flippant in the face of Severus’ uncertainty.

“To put it simply: her blood calls to you. An _apelant de sânge_ is our one true weakness, even more powerful than the sun. When you have found the one whose blood calls to you - your one true mate - your immortality is made whole, or turned desolate,” Razvan revealed to him solemnly. His usual lighthearted tone was gone, and his ice-blue eyes seared with their seriousness. 

Severus felt as if he’d been gutted. He stared in consternation at his sire. “Why would you withhold this from me?”

Razvan cocked his head to the side in question. “I didn’t withhold anything, Severus.”

There were times Razvan reminded Severus too closely of Dumbledore, and it didn’t sit well with him. He knew his sire was much more forthcoming than Dumbledore had ever been, he did; but in moments such as these, he couldn’t help but remember the way Dumbledore had withheld information from him.

Teeth gritted, Severus insisted, “You did. You could have warned me about this at any time. You and Mireille are inseparable. You’ve never explained why, but you could have.”

“I suppose I wished to spare your feelings,” Razvan responded, considering Severus with compassion etched into his chiseled features. “Had you let such hope bloom within you, and then never found your mate, you would make for quite the unhappy immortal.”

“I’ve never known true happiness to begin with,” Severus spat out spitefully. “It wouldn’t have made a difference!”

“Oh?” Razvan challenged, his eyes piercing through his progeny. “Would you not have been convinced that Lily was your one chance at finding your _apelant de sânge_?”

Severus’ fangs burst out of his mouth, and he surged forward threateningly.

Razvan merely raised a brow, unruffled by the display. “You know that you are like a son to me, Severus, whether you wish for that sentiment or not. I can only do what any father would do and try to protect you from pain.”

“Then help me,” Severus entreated quietly, deflated. “Help me know what to do.”

“Fate can be so unkind,” Razvan said sorrowfully. He sighed and stood from his grand oak chair, hands behind his back as he moved around his desk to stand before Severus. “Now that you know of your _apelant de sânge_ , if you do not claim her, you will be one of the fiercest monsters on earth until she is gone from it.” 

Severus struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “What do you mean by that?”

Razvan’s brow creased in concern. “You will attempt to drink from others and never be satisfied. You will attempt to abate your lust with many and never feel complete. You will kill without thought, because the urge to claim and mate with your _apelant de sânge_ will be forefront in your mind. I can lock you away, put you deep beneath the ground for the next century to protect you and others that you would come into contact with.”

The explanation alone was enough to leave Severus feeling sick. “And if I claimed her, what would that entail?” His brow furrowed in dismay. “Must I turn her?”

“Only once your blood harmonizes with the song within her blood will the claiming be complete,” Razvan explained, eyes boring into him. “Yes, Severus. You must turn her. To be your mate, she must join you as a vampire.”

Severus shook his head in denial. “I cannot. I cannot do that to her. She is young, vibrant. The shadows are no place for her.”

Razvan gifted him a small, sad smile. “I felt the same when I saw Mireille. I had resigned myself to immortality without her.” His smile grew. “She proved me wrong, as you know. Perhaps your _apelant de sânge_ will do the same.”

“No one would want immortality with me,” Severus murmured dejectedly, staring out of the large windows to the rain pouring outside. 

A musical laugh came from his sire’s throat. “Well, I turned you, didn’t I?” He placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder and squeezed encouragingly. “At the very least, you must present the choice. Return to Sofia and confront this Hermione Granger with the truth.” Another squeeze, and Razvan waited until Severus had met his eye before he spoke. “Whatever becomes of this, I will always be here for you, Severus.”

* * *

Charles Weasley stood waiting for him at the gates to the Bulgarian manor house. “Sir.”

“Mr Weasley,” Severus inclined his head in deference to the dragon-trainer. It was the second time they had greeted one another in front of the iron gates. When Severus had first arrived in Sofia a week ago, Charles had been there, having prepared the house for him. Severus had forgotten how tolerable the young man was compared to his siblings, and he was certainly an asset to the vampire community, working with them in Romania and surrounding nations when they needed mortal assistance, especially during the day when vampires were at their weakest. Severus had asked Charles before why he was a friend to vampires; the young man had answered that he always tried to be helpful to misunderstood creatures. Honestly, this Weasley would probably put Hagrid to shame. 

Charles walked with him to the front steps, hands behind his back as he apprised Severus of all that had occurred. “I have made contact with Hermione and expect her to arrive later this evening for dinner. She knows nothing of who she will be meeting.”

“Very good,” Severus replied, nodding with satisfaction. Severus had suggested the ruse to Charles, unsure if Hermione would accept the invitation from Severus himself after the way their previous encounter had ended. 

“Will you need anything else? I have a dragon to collect and release back at the preserve, but I will stay as long as you need help.”

“I think that will be all,” Severus announced. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr Weasley.” He extracted the large pouch of galleons from his robes and handed them to Charles before turning away and ascending the stairs leading to the front doors.

When the redhead didn’t withdraw, but stood at the bottom of the stairs considering Severus with a thoughtful expression on his freckled face, Severus faced him with raised a brow expectantly.

“I know it’s not my place,” Charles ventured, “but she’s an amazing girl, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Please… don’t hurt her.”

Severus wasn’t surprised at all by Charles’ bravery, but rather felt a hint of admiration that he would stand up to one such as Severus, knowing the danger, to protect his friend. 

“I would meet the sun before I would hurt her,” Severus responded, surprising himself with such candor. 

Charles’ eyes widened and he nodded slowly. “Goodnight then, Sir.”

* * *

Severus opened the door, teeming with trepidation. He loathed feeling so unsure of himself after years of living confidently as a vampire, powerful and free. The old Severus might have resented Hermione for having such influence over him; but now, he could only meet her shocked gaze and wait for his fate to be revealed.

“Erm… this is a surprise,” Hermione declared bashfully. She shifted uncomfortably as she gazed at the intricate gold inlay at the threshold. “I should’ve known Charlie would never have a place like this.”

She might be surprised at how wealthy her friend actually was, but he didn’t comment on that. 

Her eyes narrowed. “Why on earth would Charlie do this for you, anyway?” She gasped suddenly, her eyes widening. “Please don’t tell me he has been working with vampires all this time, and the dragonologist profession was just a ruse.”

Severus smirked. “Young Mr Weasley’s association with our community is not my business to tell, though perhaps I can be persuaded to share if you would join me for dinner.”

Hermione’s lips twitched as she fought back a smile. “Will you just be watching me eat, or do you plan to…” She blushed as she trailed off, as if she realized that line of questioning was remarkably intimate. 

Severus fought the primal urges that roared to the surface at the thought of all the many ways he could sup from the morsel before him. 

“I’m not exactly hungry,” Hermione told him regretfully. “I only agreed to humor Charlie, but Mr Krum has been insistent that I eat dinner with the family every night.” 

Severus didn’t like the tone of her voice. Though the sentence had been presented with irritation, he could hear underlying distress and apprehension, and it had his heightened senses prickling with a protective anger. 

“Come here,” he demanded, extending his hand toward her. His heart beat painfully in his chest as she stared at his outstretched hand for what felt like an eternity but was really only a couple of moments before she gripped his fingers. He pulled her forward gently but firmly and wrapped his arms around her. He breathed her in, her scent both inflaming him and yet comforting him. He’d spent too much time away from her, and reuniting with her was like a balm to his soul. 

“Is Andrey’s intent to somehow force you into marriage with his son?” he asked, his arms tightening around her at the thought. He would kill them all. 

He pulled away from her and shook his head to clear it. The red haze was descending; _fuck, eat, kill,_ was forefront in his mind, and it shook him to his core. He stared into Hermione’s eyes as he held onto her hands; the warm brown orbs centered him, and he breathed deeply as he regained control of himself. 

“I don’t know what his intent is,” Hermione answered with a furrowed brow. “Viktor and I aren’t even remotely interested in one another that way. Viktor’s barely been there; he trains constantly, and you know how important my studies are to me.” She squeezed his hands and peered up at him. “Severus, why have you invited me here?” Her teeth nibbled at her lower lip, her eyes imploring him for an answer.

“I want to tell you everything,” he said, skipping formalities. The air felt electric around them. His index fingers smoothed over the rapid beat he could feel at the pulse points in her wrists.

Hermione’s answering smile wrapped around his heart. “I want to hear it all.”

“But first…” he trailed off, eyeing her with hunger.

She reached for him moments before he took her in his arms, bending her backward as he claimed her mouth. The way her body melted into his, every inch of her pressed against him, created an uncontrollable inferno inside of him. He needed her. Her life essence, yes, but to take her physically would appease him enough to get through until he could give her a proper choice. 

He tore her outer travel robe from her trembling frame, growling as her nimble fingers loosened his cravat and began to work free the buttons of his brocade vest. She was no genteel kitten as her tongue dueled with his, but a ravenous lioness who was sucking away every inch of his sanity. 

He broke their kiss and bent to scoop her into his arms. Her hands held onto his shoulders as he glided with her up the grand staircase and into his bedroom. Her wide eyes barely had time to take in the enormity of the four poster bed and black silk sheets before he was laying her down and pulling out his wand. 

“ _Divesto,_ ” Severus murmured, and her clothes melted away from her body. His eyes devoured her curves; her full breasts and rosy nipples that begged for his mouth, her tapered waist and flared hips calling for his hands, the triangle at the junction of her thighs catching and holding his rapt attention. He’d never needed so badly to be inside a woman. 

When Hermione held out her arms, imploring him to join her, he fell upon her, taking her mouth in a bruising kiss while her legs wrapped around his waist. The sensation was so raw, he was certain he would lose all of his thinly-retained control if he were to join her in disrobing. 

His hands shaped her body, caressing the curve of her waist before moving to palm her generous breasts. She arched into his hands, her eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure he bestowed on her. Lowering his head, he stroked his tongue around one rosy peak, teasing her nipple lightly before closing his mouth around it and sucking gently. Her hips bucked as her moan echoed around the room. Severus imagined sinking his fangs into the tip of her breast, tasting her briefly before moving to other pulse points on her body. The fantasy ripped through him like fire, and he fought with himself to retain control of the beast raging inside him for completion. 

Moving down her body, he teased her with lips, teeth, and tongue, worshiping her with fervor, groaning when he reached the hot heat between her legs. She cried out as his thumbs parted her nether lips, and his tongue stroked her intimately. Gods, tasting her blood was foremost in his mind; but this was pure ecstasy, drinking from her centre as she writhed uncontrollably beneath his mouth. His index finger rubbed insistently at her clit, the hard little bud jumping beneath his finger in response. Plunging his tongue into her depths, Severus brought her to a screaming climax with his ministrations. He peeled her thighs from his head and moved back up her body with a wolfish grin, watching aftershocks rock her body.

Hermione’s brown eyes consumed him. “Take me,” she begged, fingers ripping wildly at the clothes still remaining on him. He helped her, pushing his black woolen trousers down, his engorged cock springing into her awaiting hands. “I need you like I’ve never needed anything,” she whispered frantically, her fingers moving over his solid length. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Severus ground out, wrapping a hand into her curls and tilting her head back so that he could have access to her neck. Her pulse beat rapidly beneath her skin, and his cock throbbed at the thought of sinking his fangs deep into her vein.

Instead, he returned his lips to hers for another passionate kiss. He fed on her sweetness, wanting to devour her; take her with his body and lock her soul to his for all time. 

_Mine,_ the beast inside him boomed, momentarily appeased as Severus surged forward and sheathed himself in her heat. 

Hermione moaned incoherently as he thrust in and out of her in a rapid rhythm. The red haze crept in as he watched her breasts bounce in time with the snapping of his hips, her chest and neck covered in a deep scarlet blush as she neared climax once more. He tried to pull back, certain he could not finish without giving into the insatiable beast fighting for control, but her ankles locked at the small of his back.

“Hermione,” he panted raggedly in warning, unable to conceal his unsheathed fangs.

Her eyes opened and focused on him. To his amazement, she took his hands in hers, entwining their fingers as she rocked against him. Their gazes locked, her expression adoring in the midst of her pleasure, he felt the red haze recede, and he groaned as she tightened around his cock. He joined her in sweet release moments later, shouting her name.

He smoothed his thumb over her brow before collapsing beside her in the bed, their breaths returning to normal slowly. 

They lay together, his fangs tingling so badly that his whole face hurt. How he’d come through the most incredible sex of his life without sinking his teeth into her, he had no idea; such resilience must be one for the record books. 

“I don’t want to scare you,” Severus murmured against the top of her head. 

“You won’t,” she assured him, tracing her fingers down his chest. 

“Since the moment I saw you at the ball, I have felt inexplicably drawn to you; tied to you, as if my existence depends on yours.” The words were almost painful to say, so adverse was he to such weakness. Razvan had put enormous effort into coaching Severus to discuss his feelings, but it was always uncomfortable. “I returned to Romania to confer with Razvan.” 

He proceeded to tell her about Razvan’s revelation, cautiously explaining what it meant for her to be his _apelant de sânge_ , and what the consequences would be for him if he did not claim her. 

“And I cannot resist you any longer,” he finished, heart in his throat. He was as honest as he’d ever been. Razvan had clearly worn off on him. “But I will,” Severus added, caressing her bare shoulder. “I will if I must.”

Hermione sat up next to him, wrapping the sheet around her as she gazed down at him thoughtfully. “Would it hurt?” She reached out to trace the faint marks at his neck. “It hurt for you.”

Severus smirked. “It wouldn’t hurt, no.” He would make sure his bite was the most pleasurable thing she’d ever felt in her life. “My turning was different; I was dying from Nagini’s bite and Razvan’s blood had to burn her venom out.” He reached up to cup her face in his hand. “I would never let you be hurt, little one. You must know it.” 

Hermione placed her hand over his, smiling gently down at him. “Will you give me time? It’s a lot to process.”

It didn’t feel like a rejection. Rather, it gave him hope. He could never come close to deserving her, this incredible woman who gave of herself so freely. 

“I understand. As much time as you need, it’s yours.” He said the words, but his entire being resisted them. _Claim her!_ The beast inside demanded. He felt his fangs burst forth, and worked to discreetly cover them with his lips. He was fortunate she was even considering such a thing, and by Salazar, he would give her the time she needed to decide. 

He could feel the beast just below the surface, demanding blood, demanding his mate. He would give her time, but at what cost?


	5. Forever and A Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks to all who gave this story a shot. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Maybe next Spooktober I’ll expand on it ;)_

* * *

Hermione sat at the vanity in her room, her fingers splayed against her neck as she traced her jugular. Sucking blood for the rest of her life didn’t appeal to her. Giving up roast chicken sandwiches and long, lazy days soaking in the sun seemed unthinkable. Would she have to quit her studies? That was a fate worse than death. She was so close to finishing her programs.

And yet, her mind kept going back to Severus, his face open and honest, absent of the harsh lines she remembered from her school days. The feelings of safety and acceptance she felt when she was with him were invaluable; she’d only ever felt that around her parents, and they were gone. For the first time since the end of the war, she felt alive. Not melancholy or uncertain or even buried in school work, but excited at the possibilities in front of her. 

Immortality had never appealed to her, either, but spending it with Severus, traveling the world, soaking up all the knowledge they could find, making heated love in his silk sheets - she couldn’t deny it sounded like a dream. And she had absolutely wondered if she was in some strange fever dream, brought on by all of the upcoming changes in her life. She pinched herself again and winced - definitely not a dream.

Three nights in the company of Severus didn’t seem like enough of a foundation to accept Severus’ proposal, but she couldn’t deny the connection between them, and she wasn’t going to try. Magic would forever be surprising her, it seemed; however odd it was to be head over heels for her former professor, it was legitimate and something she could not even attempt to resist. 

She didn’t need any more time, especially when his sanity hung in the balance. She was going to do it. She was going to let him bite her, and turn her, and join him. It felt right. It felt like home. 

First thing tomorrow evening, she would go to him, and tell him of her decision. 

* * *

Severus stood below her window, watching with haunted eyes. He could no longer help himself. He needed to be near her. He denounced himself as a pitiful wretch; he had promised to give her time, but the beast inside him was dominating his every good sense. He needed to smell her, see her, fuck her, taste her. 

He glided up to her window, pushed it open. 

Scared, muffled sounds came from inside. Frantic movement caught his eye in the darkness, his vision focusing sharply to the sight of Andrey on top of Hermione. One of Andrey’s hands was tearing at her sleep gown as his other hand covered her mouth while she screamed into it and thrashed. The man’s pants were pulled down and his legs held hers open. 

Severus roared as a deep red haze clouded his vision. The sound was so visceral it shocked even he, and he moved with heightened speed. He tore Andrey away from Hermione, and no sooner had he thrown Andrey back like a ragdoll did he turn and descend on the man like a hungry wolf. Unthinking - except for the fact that Andrey had tried to force himself on his mate - Severus gripped Viktor’s father by the shoulders and tore into his carotid artery. Blood sprayed across the gold filigree in the room. Severus gorged himself, not caring if Andrey died, only wanting every last ounce of the brute’s blood in retaliation for such a grievance.

It was the muffled sobs that halted him, hardly any life left in Andrey. Severus carelessly dropped him to the floor, and turned slowly to find Hermione back against the headboard, holding a pillow to her tear-stained chest, trembling as she watched him with terrified eyes. The red haze receded, but did not fade completely, as he saw fresh tears roll down her pale cheeks.

“I would never hurt you,” he told her softly, taking a step forward. He stopped when she gasped and tried to move further against the headboard.

“Y-you told me y-you were good,” she stuttered in fear.

“I would kill thousands to protect you.” 

The words hung in the air. He was not a killer, but Severus knew them to be the truth. 

“Get out,” she whispered, her body shaking violently. She hugged her pillow like a shield, and the sight broke his heart. “Go!” she cried out, her voice breaking.

The beast inside him raged. It took every ounce of effort he had to turn from her and go to the window. He wanted to apologise to her, but he was not sorry. He would never be sorry for protecting her. 

As he glided out of the window, he heard her door bang open and saw the lights in the room illuminate. A scream - Mrs Krum’s - echoed from the window, and he could hear healing spells being cast.

Andrey didn’t deserve to live. He scowled and flew away, his body jerky as he fought his instincts. He needed to get to Razvan as soon as possible - his chances with Hermione were ruined, and it was time for his sire to lock him away before he could hurt anyone else.

* * *

Sleep had been nearly impossible. The image of Severus, feral and ferocious, ripping out Andrey’s throat was seared behind her eyelids. 

Coming home late, hair a mess, lips bruised from hungry kisses, had enraged Andrey more than she ever thought possible. She hadn’t expected him to be waiting up. She hadn’t expected him to unlock her door and assault her. Caught completely off guard, her wand still on the vanity table, she’d had no chance of fighting back. How naive she had been to think he wouldn’t hurt her. 

And then her bloodthirsty savior had arrived just in time, but scarred her all the same. She knew Severus wasn’t evil. She knew it with certainty. But he had ripped into her would-be rapist with such fury it had shaken her to her core. The raw power, strength and speed Severus possessed was awe inspiring. His unrepentant, “I would kill thousands to protect you,” echoed through her mind the entire night, his blood-stained mouth a constant image. 

She’d spent the day wandering around Sofia, bundled against the cold. Severus’ explanation about the effect of an _apelant de sânge_ on a vampire played on repeat in her thoughts. He’d been repressing the base beast inside of himself ever since the night at the ball, all to give her a chance to make a decision. He didn’t attempt coercion, even when he could have. He didn’t use his vampiric powers - or his magic - to convince her or rush her. Given the circumstances, it could have been Severus forcing himself upon her as she fought with all her might; instead it had been a human man with human lust. Pathetic.

Andrey was recovering in Sofia’s wizarding hospital, though the Healers expected him to never be able to speak again. Viktor hadn’t even bothered to visit his father; he was livid at Andrey’s actions and couldn’t even look Hermione in the eye due to the shame he felt for behavior that wasn’t even his own. She’d felt it best to inform her professors she was returning to England sooner than expected, and quickly packed her beaded bag to begin the trek home.

But the journey never began. Her sore feet tread aimless circles around the city, and by sundown she realized she was walking straight to Severus’ manor home. 

He’d acted bestial, but she knew he was far from it. She’d heard his tales of his sire, civilized and benevolent. She’d seen the change in Severus’ attitude. How could she hold him at fault for saving her? He needed her, and Merlin, it was so incredibly clear as she drew closer to the iron gates that she needed him. 

She pushed open the gates and slipped through, striding determinedly up the marble steps to the massive double doors. There were no lights within; it seemed abandoned. She stepped back and gazed up at the bright moonlight, biting her lip as she worked through what to do.

Shadows passed over the moonlight. She watched with wide eyes as a group of bats flapped around in a dizzying circle before suddenly coming together to form a man before her. 

“Hermione,” Severus breathed, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. “Why have you come here?”

“You know why.” With deliberate slowness, she raised her hands and swept her thick curls to rest over one shoulder, exposing her jugular to him. She tilted her head back and raised a brow. It was time. She belonged to him, and would, forever.

His black eyes seared her as he moved closer. He appeared worn, strained; but every step forward, he transformed, his movements turning fluid, the lines softening on his face. His hand cupped the nape of her neck, angling her head to the side.

“ _Dragostea mea,_ ” he breathed against her skin. 

His fangs sank into her, the piercing sensation so powerful her thighs clenched with an unexpected orgasm. Her hand fluttered at his lapel as his mouth moved against her neck hungrily, and her eyes rolled back into her head. She could feel her veins shrinking, began to gasp for breath, but it wasn’t unpleasant; it felt as if she was being covered in layer after layer of gossamer.

As everything faded to black, she tasted copper on her tongue. 

“Severus,” she whispered. 


End file.
